


Polish Legions Under Napoleon

by derogatory



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derogatory/pseuds/derogatory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the partitions of Poland, the former Commonwealth finds an ally in France's new hero Napoleon. (continues where The Three Partitions of Poland leaves off)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polish Legions Under Napoleon

Crowded over the body, the three Black Eagles reached a compromise for joint custody of their Polish prisoner. The agreement was finalized on the battlefield and the men, having happily divided up the charred remains of the former Commonwealth, separated.

On the very good days (and there were only a few), Poland felt like an unwanted child being passed between households. Of these three, he would grudgingly admit Austria- prim and high mannered, acted like the mother. 

North Italy was still under Austrian control, but he wasn't the same child he had been with the Holy Roman Empire. The fall of another similarly named legacy had matured Italy- at least physically. And it seemed now that Hungary was the proper lady of Austria's household, she couldn’t dress him as a cute maid any more.

"You're a little old for cute dresses," she confessed sadly, fussing with Italy's tiny cravat. Since Austria's laws were foreign bullying and never applied to Poland (according to him, naturally), he spent his free time rummaging through Hungary's closet. "And that's my wedding dress!" Hungary snarled, dragging Poland by the back of the gown. "You can't wash the floors in that!" He growled, thrashed and struggled. At home, Poland always objected to doing any commoner labor, but Hungary at least managed to make chores into a fun race. Competition had been a heavy part in his union with Leit- whether Leit knew they were playing or not- and it was always fun to have someone new to beat.

"Yeah! Poland always wins!" Poland crowed, kicking aside the scrub and gloating over his portion of the clean floors. Italy sulked and the two tickled him until he forgot his loss in a fit of giggles.

Some nights Poland would sleep tucked under Hungary's arm. He would whisper to Italy about their futures, straining his fingertips to try and tickle the boy before he fell asleep. Those times he would fall asleep with the idea that tiny Italy was Latvia, and Hungary's steady breathing was Leit's.  


  


* * *

  


 

In Poland's make-believe family structure, Prussia would have to be the strong handed father-- on poor terms with mother. 

Poland, despite a rich history in military victories, had let his training slide during the end of their Commonwealth. After all, in those days he’d rather nap in the rye fields than do boring marching! To make up for this loss of discipline, Prussia roust Poland in the darkest parts of the morning to march across the lawn. To add insult to injury, that German jerk kept him busy with lame lessons in the afternoons too.

"Austria like, totally doesn't make me talk German," Poland grumbled, turning the page of the textbooks slowly as though they were a heavy weight. 

"Yeah, but you'll speak German while you're with me," Prussia countered and kicked out at his ribs. Poland flinched and laughed, counting each blow, " _Jeden, dwa, trzy_ …"  


  


* * *

  


 

In Poland's mind, Russia was never family.

"I'm sorry," the behemoth said in that snarling sweet way that was never really apologetic. "But I’m afraid your old friends are away for the week." Russia had caught Poland craning his neck for the remaining representatives of his homeland. "Because they behave so well, I let them go on family vacations together," he explained.

Poland glumly wandered the hallways of Russia's giant home, kept in line under the eyes of the Cossacks. 

"Vacations where?" he tossed the question over his shoulder. Russia, wrapped in fur, beamed like the sun.

"Oh, someplace warm," he assured. 

"You should've like, gone with them," Poland grumbled. "I totally don't wanna be around you anyway."

"But someone has to take care of you," Russia said kindly, descending over him. Poland attempted to pry the other man's hands away. Every touch from Russia reminded him of the night the Commonwealth crumbled and Russia burned a mark into his skin.

"Get away from me!" he snarled, shoving. Russia caught his fingers in a grip strong enough to break them. For somebody so fat, Poland grimaced, he could really move fast!

"Why would I 'get away'?" Russia wondered, twisting his prisoner’s hands at an angle that Poland whimpered. "You and your friends are part of me! I feel this pain too, I do." When Poland protested, a strike came down as strong as any crushed uprising, as firm as any execution. Russia let the blond slump to the floor. "After all, by taking you in I've just recovered what was torn away."

When he left, Russia added cheerfully from the doorway, "Oh, and if you behave, perhaps next time we can all go on a trip together." 

Somehow Poland never behaved to Russia's standards, and he lie awake on the stone floors wondering where those losers went on holiday. In his mind he saw Leit with his pants rolled at the ankles, trying to catch fish in the Vistula. Next time, he thought firmly and sank into sleep as deep as a stone in the river. Next time I'll meet them again. I’ll splash Leit right in his stupid face.

(Years later, Estonia shot him a horrified expression- "'Vacation'? With Russia? Are you crazy? We were probably only in another wing of his house, where were you?" Poland's resentment soared.)  


  


* * *

  


 

When the next switch to Russia happened, Austria argued at length with him, who accused the Austrian of withholding Poland past his time. It was a confusion between their calendars (Orthodox and Julian), which no one bothered to explain to Prussia when his turn came around. Poland collapsed in his arms, almost two weeks late and gasping. Russia had kept him in a basement, knee deep in blood. When he would pass out, he saw rye fields and Leit's worried face as they repaired their fences. 

"No way am I living like this," Poland snarled after Hungary had nursed him back to health. Under Austria's frequent absences they had been able to rekindle an earlier friendship that had been celebrated before the partitions. But the more strained Austria's diplomatic meetings got, the more his wife had to tow the national line and separate herself from encouraging Poland’s high attitude.

("Don't refer to the Commonwealth, or to Lithuania," Austria had warned her over a dinner. "You did not take place in the breakup of those two, but in marrying me you agreed to follow our previous decisions."

"Please," she laughed, eyes smirking between the candles. "You don't have to be so serious with me. Now that we're married-"

"You'll respect the decisions I made.")

"You'll get used to it," Hungary encouraged him half-heartedly, running his hair into a ponytail. "Cheer up! You look scary when you're sad!" When a sympathetic Italy tried to crawl into his lap, Poland pushed him off with such force that Hungary tugged his hair. "Stop it. What's got into you?" she snapped, smacking him on the top of his head. "You don't think this is difficult for Italy too?" Poland thrust his chin into the air. Even after Russia's taunts and Prussia's bullying, he hadn't forgotten the role of the Polish nobility.

"Nobody suffers as badly as Poland," he declared. 

When Italy hesitantly tried to point out that, no, he and his brother were also split up, “Just like you and Lithua-” Poland squirmed away. 

He stormed out of Austria's grand house into the perfect lawns, endless lands ( _my_ lands! Poland raged) He threw himself fitfully onto the grass. 

Italy's life was hard, he conceded. Poland couldn't imagine having a brother, but maybe that was like what Lithuania was (to be fair, when he heard of Austria and Hungary he couldn't imagined being _married_ , but had thought of his and Leit’s former union then too.) Guilt nagged at the edges of Poland's conscience. It was right to say Italy was suffering as well- he and his brother were split between powers too. But nobody could get what it felt like to lose your entire self! He was the only person being taken advantage by three guys like this! 

Poland could feel a funny tightness pickling at his throat, like he was thirsty in a desert. His good humor about the partitions was fading fast. Nobody would mention the Commonwealth anymore, and Prussia laughed when Poland mentioned being his own country again. 

"You're an idiot," he had sneered. "There's never gonna be another house for you. You'll be our servant forever!" At the memory, Poland pressed his face hard into his arms, groaning. He wasn't much of a servant, but he remembered being a king. 

"Ah, this is very lucky," a voice cooed above him. When Poland peeked through the grass and his bangs, the man knelt down to his level. Poland regarded him suspiciously. This is the only enemy of all his new masters- Prussia, Austria and Russia. 

" _Polonge_ , I have been looking for you!" He smiled benevolently at the boy's anxious glare. "And now I find you in such a sorry state! Come, let me help you."

France held out his hand and Poland took it.  


  


* * *

  


 

Austria's house burned so bright they could see it from the mountains of Switzerland’s home, dodging bullets and insults as they slipped down the slopes. Poland could feel the heat of the fires as he entered that home (Italy's now, he thought with a rush of pride. Whose life was more difficult now that you have your freedom!) 

"After everything I did for you," Austria raged, unable to keep his stance abroad under Napoleon's attack. "And you side with him. I should have let Prussia rip you apart!" 

"Yeah!" Poland tossed back his head and laughed. "It like, TOTALLY must suck to trust some guy to save you from getting like, ambushed and junk." Austria's expression flushed with embarrassment and what Poland hoped was guilt. "Guess I wouldn’t know anything about that!"

The only problem was that seizing part of Austria’s home had been super easy. Austria didn’t expect people to come through his irritable friend’s yard, and Italy was nowhere near prepared to fend off intruders to the house. So the only problem was Austria was the lord of that home, but Hungary was the lady, fully capable of wearing an overconfident France down. Within a few weeks the Hungarian bombarded France’s resolve, then knocked him off his guard, long enough for Austria to move back into place.

"This is my house," Austria began, his gaze level but voice as shaky as Italy‘s early piano recitals. "Because I have some shred of dignity left, unlike you, I will allow France to leave peacefully."

"That is the deal," France replied immediately, already eying the exit with ravenous looks. ("Wait," Poland said, finally getting the strength to breathe, grabbing France’s arm.) 

"When you go," Austria reminded him. "Make sure not to take anything that isn't yours."

"I won't." France nodded, absently shaking the panicking nation aside. ("Wait!" Poland cried, realizing what was happening.) He made a break for the door, not bothering to glance back until Poland shrieked, jogging him back to the present. He looked over his shoulder between Austria and the again captured Poland.

“What’s this?” he laughed, shrugging his shoulders after Austria’s stone expressions. “I am the one who is defeated and you are the one looking so upset! Don’t take it out on Poland, we are already leaving.”

"Poland is a property of Austria," he hissed, his artist hands a vice grip over Poland's wrist. “He isn’t yours.” France remained rooted in that spot in the doorway, long enough that Poland felt his sinking heart soar for another moment. Surely France would draw his sword and resume the fight. Once he saw he was being driven out of Austria’s lavish home without his loyal Polish friend, of course France would take up arms again, starving or not- The door swung noiselessly closed behind him.

“No way,” Poland stared. When Austria let go of him, his legs felt wobbly, like the ground he was standing on was sinking beneath the weight of that betrayal.

"After everything I’ve done-" Austria repeated himself, glowering after the stunned nation. "Hungary tells me you complained about your life with Prussia, is that right?” When Poland stayed quiet (for once!), Austria tore off his white gloves, still shaking with his anger. “And how bad Russia treated you, you would never be quiet about that- how very _unfair_ it was. I don’t have to remind you that you lost that war.” 

“Uh. It’s not a war if I-” Austria’s hand cracked over Poland’s jaw, knocking him back. He reeled from the slap, more surprised than hurt. When he raised his face to glare back at the attacker, Austria had left his side, scouring the room.

“You guys are like, all a bunch of bastards,” Poland spat, rubbing the side of his face. “As soon as I can I’m just gonna go back and see France- I’m gonna help Napoleon!” he sneered, “And no matter how much you whine about it I’m really like, not gonna listen.”

"If that's the case,” Austria straightened, turning back to the blond with an iron rod clutched in his whitening knuckles. “Maybe I've been too lenient on Poland."  


  


* * *

  


 

“Oh, _Polonge_ ,” France breathed, holding Poland’s purpling face in his hands. “You see? That _Autriche_ is a monster!“ He stroked his hair, combing out dried blood through his fingers. “You were right to find me again.”

“You abandoned me,” Poland sniffed between a mouth full of blood, skin worn and shaking.

“How could I have known he would behave like that?” he replied, aghast. "He was always such a gentleman!" Poland hesitated, regarding that simpering expression, France's strong grip over his aching jaw. France knew full well Austria was gonna be mad, and he totally did ditch Poland back then! But.. Poland’s options were limited. France was about the only ally he’d have against all three of the parititioners, and he did seem genuinely sorry..

France leaned in close to lay kisses on the still smarting bruises, ignoring the still sullen man underneath them. 

“Come,” he smiled. “Let’s save our friend from that tyrant.”  


  


* * *

  


 

Hungary screamed, her face wild against the French forces holding her back, careful not to take any chances. Poland felt his stomach lurch at her bloodied face and looked between Napoleon's man and his former captors.

"Hey," he began, laughing nervously. "We're just doin this for Italy, right?" He hurriedly avoided Hungary’s eyes. He wanted her to see the marks that lingered from Austria’s beatings, but he wasn’t prepared to face her during an attack. After what had happened before, he knew Hungary’s involvement would only make France lose again!

" _Vraiment_ ," France replied, but it seemed so unconvincing with his hungry eyes over the restrained Austria. He slid his hands free from their white gloves, sinking in close to the pink aristocrat. 

"Whoa, hey," Poland began, going just as red from his proximity to the scene.

"Why don't you find him for us, yes?" France looked over his shoulder, a slow predatory look cutting through the smoke. Poland jumped to attention, mind going fuzzy with the deafening cries of Hungary against the soldiers, Austria's pliant gasps. "Italie," France added in a more urgent, 'the-adults-are-talking' tone. "I leave his retrieval to my Polish Legion."

Poland's heart soared high above the grisly scene unfolding before him. "D'you mean it?"

" _Vraiment_ ," France repeated, sliding a hand under Austria's shirt, continuing his assault and praise all at once. ("Stop-") "In fact! We will make a deal. You give me Italie, and I will give you your Vistula, your Warsawa."

"That's war on Russia," Austria glowered, flinching when his skin was pinched.

"No, no. It's a promise between friends," France smiled, slipping his hand along the other man's waistline. "I'm sure you and I can reach a similar accord?” Poland didn’t bother to wait and hear if Austria surrendered to France. He tore from the room, passing Hungary with a heavy heart but high hopes. He knew where Italy would be hiding! They had played those games a million times during the partitions. Poland gloated when the pantry door was flung wide, revealing Italy shuddering behind the bags of wheat.

“Poland always wins,” he smirked and strode forward, anxious hauling the boy out by his collar. He shushed Italy when he struggled and cried, begging to be let go, for Austria, for Hungary and his brother. “We’re gonna find your brother too!” Poland snapped. “France will totally let you two live together.” Italy’s rosy face lit up briefly at that possibility, though doubt set in as well.

"And live with France?"

"Eh, well kinda." Poland shrugged. To be honest he wasn’t too sure on any of the details yet. Italy squeezed away and scurried back along the grand hall of portraits, forcing Poland to chase him. Good thing I’m a lot faster too, Poland thought, storming at his heels. “C’mon!” he snapped. “Me and France will take good care of you guys. Like, don’t you trust me?”

"Y-Yes but… If you get too big, you'll fall apart like Papa." Italy trembled, back pushed so tight against the portraits Poland was sure the paint would smudge. "You'll get sick like Papa-"

"Shut up about that guy!" Poland grumbled, crossing after Italy. This kinda mission was taking too long- he knew the sooner he fetched Italy the sooner his life could go back to normal. "You just like being small and alone, huh? You can’t take care of yourself!" Italy shivered under the shouts. “That’s not me!”

"Poland-"

"I'd rather be big and sick than be somebody’s servant another second!" He tugged on the boy's hair- not teasing Italy’s one unruly strand- but ripped at the bangs and the roots and dragged Venice and Florence kicking through the halls. "You're gonna be free whether you like it or not."  


  


* * *

  


 

France and Poland had a visitor during their intimate celebrations on Italy’s behalf; This visitor was a bystander to the partitions, who looked disparaging after Poland when he left the room, rubbing the love marks on his neck.

"Isn't he a little far from Paris?" England sneered, hands primly in his lap.

"You are jealous?" France tossed over his shoulder and spent the next several minutes listening to England fuss and rage ("Of COURSE NOT, who would be jealous of a filthy old slut like you! I've got better things to do that stand around and watch you slobber over unnecessary countries, etc etc"). France finally shooed the topic away, crossing his legs. He continued easily, "Poland has come to me for help, it would be too cruel to turn his affections away!"

"You're an idiot," England spat back, finally settling back in his seat after his latest tirade. "If you keep promising to restore Poland's land, other people will want their own countries too."

" _Viva la revoluion_ , yes?" France smiled indulgently. When England drew in close with the Amiens agreement, France snaked his face in closer. "Angleterre, let's be friends now, yes-"

"Don't touch me," he snapped, batting the blond away. He smoothed the parchment between them with one hand, the other batting France's advances aside. "If you want to improve our relations, that damned Vistula Legion needs to go."

"Ah," France smiled, flicking his tongue against England's ear, ignoring how the table overturned as a result. "To make an entire army disappear- that is impossible!"

England, still shuddering with disgust, managed a smirk. "Not quite, bastard."  


  


* * *

  


 

"Huh?" Poland squinted up from the map. "What's in Saint-Domino?"

"Domingue," France correctly sweetly, sliding his hands over Poland's and guiding them across the sea. "There. A slave of mine is making such a terrible riot, and it's our responsibility to end it." Poland covered the island with his fingers- it was so tiny!

"I like, don't care about that," he yawned. "I already TOLD your boss, I’m not gonna just put down loser uprisings anymore." He was tired of haunting the streets of newly freed Italy, putting down the brothers’ captors and their subsequent insurrections. He may not have been the most experienced of soldiers, but the Poland wasn’t France's private policeman!

"You promised we'd restore the Commonwealth!" Poland stubbornly insisted, twisting his chin away when France tried to pet the side of his face. "No~"

"Oh no, no, no! it's very important," France assured him, shoulders tensing in annoyance at Poland's every squirm. "Besides," he tossed a hand in the air. "You don't think you would like a Caribbean vacation?" He laughed at the twist of Poland’s white neck, the eager expression of his face. Poland was so taken with the idea of a tropical getaway he even forgot to be wary when France swept in to kiss his forehead.

"I dunno," Poland kicked his boots against the carpet. "It sounds like a pain!"

"But! We remember as my boss says," France began and slipped into his best impression of the smaller man's affected tones, gesturing in the manner of an emperor, "'For my Poles, nothing is impossible'."  


  


* * *

  


 

The long ride across the Atlantic ended in the anxious appearance of France's unruly island, where Cap-François was burning. The boat lumbered towards the smoking port, and Poland cushioned his chin on his arms along the railings.

Some vacation! he fumed.

After three days chasing France’s slave nation, Poland fell hard in the jungle, blood boiling, his head throbbing. When the chills set in, Poland remembered the day Lithuania fished him out of the ice. They both came into the night air soaked and sobbing, eyes as wide as the moon above them. Poland laughed and cuddled close, his reflexes wild and pressing against Leit's warmth.

Was that how we always were, Poland wondered in his delirium. From the beginning we’ve been treading the cold water of the Baltic, keeping each other’s heads just above the waves and paddling for the shore. 

When he woke up again, the hum of the waves wasn’t from the Baltic's or even the Caribbean, but the cusp of the far east Atlantic, with France’s anxious face above him.

“For Poland, nothing’s impossible,” Poland rasped, echoing Napoleon’s previous words as he attempted to sit up. The room spun like the morning after a bad night with an old bottle.

“Some things, yes, they are,” France amended, hoisting him into a sitting position. “Though I should commend you for not abandoning me for that ungrateful heathen’s side.” Although France slipped into a slew of particularly vulgar insults in his native tongue, Poland was suddenly reminded of Austria’s similar anger.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about me like, betraying you or losing some war if you just did what you promised!” he growled, shoving himself to a shuddering stance. “I joined you to fight those partitioning jerks, not that random guy.”

"Is that so?" France countered easily. He wore the same smirk from the start of the campaign, but Poland thought his mouth looked a lot tighter around the edges. "Are you disappointed in yourself? Honestly, do not blame me for _your_ mistakes, Pologne, it is not fair-"

"'My mistakes'!" Poland shrieked, flushed with embarrassment. "You like, shouldn’t have sent me there in the first place!” It was difficult to stay angry on borrowed energy, and Poland felt the dizziness return. When he stumbled, France's hands were around him, gingerly leading him to a seat. Poland stubbornly tugged his arm free, but France slunk in and slid his hands under Poland’s shirt.

“Though,” France admitted, ignoring the affronted squeaks as he guided Poland to lie back. “You have come back at a good time.” 

“Tch,” Poland tried to writhe away, only to invoke a happy sound from the man lying on top of him. “What the heck for? Did you like miss me or some junk?”

“No,” he replied with such candidacy Poland thought maybe his feeling were a little hurt. Any offense was instantly mended, however, when France ran a hand down Poland's cheek, 'tut tut'-ing under his breath and saying, "Only that we march on Prussia tomorrow."

“Are you serious?!” Poland choked, twisting his neck away from the onslaught of France’s mouth. The man growled at the obstruction, pulling back and tossing his hair out of his face.

“I am,” he murmured, expression serious under traditional French bedroom eyes. "And now it's now up to the Poles to demonstrate whether they’re really worthy to become a nation once more."

France grinned with conceit, and Poland's everlasting heartbeat pounded in his ears- as loud as the sound of oncoming troops.  


  


* * *

  


 

For some reason the road to Berlin went by really fast! Poland marveled at the speed that France operated, easily passing through Prussia’s angry offensive and striking critical blows even over the course of one day. By the end, Prussia had been completely defeated and Poland gleefully kicked at his ribs, counting in Polish at the top of his lungs. 

“I’ll take care of him,” France’s slow smirk cut through the smoke, both things leaving Poland equally breathless. He crouched in the dirt beside Prussia, holding him down by his neck. Poland wandered through the grass, Prussia's screams trailing behind him.

Just over the hill Poland was hit with a blinding realization- This was where my bedroom was. He could see the walls of his room, the high windows overlooking the Vistula. He could hear Leit cooking downstairs, clattering through their collection of pot and pans, and every so often calling for an extra hand making breakfast. The heat of the distant fire didn’t remind Poland of the night their home burned- but of the warmth of the summer sunlight when he woke up in their bed. That place was little more than charred earth, but he couldn’t erase the image of the commonwealth from that spot.

France found Poland ducking through the rye fields Prussia had exploited as his own, not as tall as Poland had remembered, but the smell was too intoxicating to dwell on its size.

“What a nice smile,” France called to him. Poland laughed, delirious with the reclaimed territories. France pointed over the boy’s head at the northern pieces of the sea, of farther but still familiar land. “Let’s build your house here, and then rescue an old friend, all right?” Poland armed himself for nothing short of victory while winter approached.  


  


* * *

  


 

Lithuania met them at the edge of Russia’s property, looking a little thinner but about the same as Poland remembered. Watching the other man hurry towards them, Poland felt a strange tightness in his chest, as if the air around them was thin, like in Switzerland's mountains. He didn’t get what the feeling was about, because he knew he should feel great to see Leit! After all, with the house from France, Poland was in a way better situation than Lithuania was. There was no reason to feel intimidated by his friend, who was happy just to be freed from Russia’s strong arm. 

After France was sure Lithuania would support them, he wandered off to find some shade- these Baltics were just too warm this time of year!

“Did you hear about my new house?” Poland blurted out at last, looking to his old friend. Lithuania nodded slowly, yes, everyone’s heard. Feeling more confident, Poland continued in a lofty voice, “France has promised to rebuild the Commonwealth for me.”

"I've been helping Napoleon, too," Lithuania pointed out. He paused for a moment, looking back over Poland's shoulder, as if he could see the new lines of their former home. He proudly followed Lithuania's gaze, ready to be praised. Instead his friend looked to Poland with a strange, bold look. "Let's make the Commonwealth equal this time." Poland's eyebrows shot up in surprise at such an early demand.

"Uh, okay," he said disbelievingly, propping his chin up with one hand. "Except like, I was down there helping Italy and you were up here making kissy faces at Russia!" He laughed at Lithuania's affronted expression, waving it aside. "You know it's true, c'mon. I’m gonna take good care of you, just like France takes care of me!"

"France _doesn't_ take care of either of us." Lithuania was suddenly stern, turning to make sure the country in question wasn’t in earshot. Poland twisted pieces of grass between his fingers, ignoring the demands, and Lithuania let his voice become more imploring. "Because of this war my house has no food, France nearly had you die on some island you'd never even heard of-"

"That's like, so none of your business," Poland grumbled and snapped back, expression hurt. “You like Russia more than me now, is that it?” He pounced on the insecurities, adding the barb, “You don’t even care about our Commonwealth anymore!”

“I didn’t say that,” Lithuania pressed, looking hopeless. “Besides, you’re the one in bed with France-” Poland covered his ears with his hands, and Lithuania glared after him, pleading, "Back then, didn't you tell me you would be willing to help me with the work? If you just want me as a servant, maybe I don't want to live with you-"

" _Bonjour_!" France was near to them again with a hysterical smile over his face. "Ah, it's wonderful, two old friends reconnecting, yes? What were you talking about, indulge me." The men in argument resumed eye contact with a panicked glance together, hoping to make up a feasible lie for this mutinous conversation.

"We're.. deciding which of us will handle what part of the attack on Russia." Leit apprehensively drew his gaze away from Napoleon's country. "So we can split the fighting three ways.” They both knew it might not be wise to challenge France with concrete plans for the Commonwealth before the war was won.

"Oh." France appeared thoughtful. "Well, you two get along so well, you should just follow Polonge’s orders!" He smiled to the other blond, both seeming blind to Lithuania's distress.

"I don’t mean to offend,” Lithuania gaped between them. “But I think I’m more than capable of fighting on my own-" 

"Oh my god! Is that Paczki!" Poland lunged after France who laughed and held the basket of pastries out of his reach, chiding him playfully (" _Non, non, non_! They are _profiterolles_!") Continuing on, Poland stuffed his face with food stolen from Lithuania while France swallowed the sullen brunette in fabrics for his new uniform as a member of the Polish Legion.  


  


* * *

  


 

The campaign was doomed as soon as they reached Russia’s house. Dogged along the way by a bitter winter (France was never used to the cold, he took Leit and Poland’s blankets for himself), the three were also hounded by the Cossacks. In every gap of trees they saw Ukraine, leading them in the wrong direction, throwing them deeper into the winter with every minor skirmish. By the time they had reached Russia’s home he had set it ablaze himself, eager to take the fight into familiar frozen territory along the Elbe.

“Just run,” Lithuania said mid firefight, looking to Poland with wide eyes, as if he had never seen his former partner before. France was holding back Russia from advancing into Poland’s new territory while the other two engaged Russia from the front. While they had experience fighting the wintery nation, both Lithuania and Poland had experience being defeated by Russia as well. The situation around them appeared to be following that pattern.

Poland glared after Lithuania’s suggestion and fired around the stone wall, ducking back for cover.

“Oh my god, shut up. I’m not goin’ anyw-”

“Maybe if you go-” Poland could tell Leit was racking his brain for a possible happy end to this situation. “Maybe you’ll just be turned back over to Prussia.” 

“I’m not giving up my house!” Poland raged and flinched as bullets ricocheted a little too close to their heads. “You don’t get it, I’m not gonna go back. I totally can’t, Liet, I can’t go back to the partitions- _I rebuilt our house_! I asked you to stay together with me again!” Lithuania’s expression hardened, like the blood from a previous wound frozen over his cheek.

“The only way we’re going to stay together is if Russia kills us both-”

“That’s an option,” Russia intoned dreamily and both men jumped, Poland cracking himself in the shoulder with his gun in surprise. The pain was enough to knock him off focus, and within the time it took him to right himself, Lithuania was swept to the snow. Poland screamed only to have Russia fire into him at close range, the force of the shots throwing Poland back into a retreat. 

I’ll find France, Poland fought to stay awake as he ran for the lines of his house. So long as he could stay with France, Poland knew that they could always regroup- they could win back Lithuania and revive the commonwealth. Just as Poland was realizing the situation could still be salvaged, the ground shook and surged as debris launched itself from the river. France had blown up the bridge too early.

Poland’s mind went blank with despair, watching the man on the other side search the smoke for his Polish legions. Gagging on his own blood, Poland spat and shouted, though it went unheard from the echo of the explosion, the pound of Russian firepower. France turned and began to disappear into the west.

“No,” Poland whispered, staggering to his feet, slouching towards the Elbe. He wouldn’t be abandoned again, his mind screamed. He still remembered the heavy handed revenge Austria unleashed when he was left behind before. These two would only be a thousand times worse. He wouldn’t let himself be punished for looking for freedom again, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be somebody’s servant. 

If there isn’t a bridge, I’ll just swim across, Poland thought, and plunged into the freezing river. 

When he finally broke through the surface, he waited for Lithuania- the boy from his youth- to pull him out of the icy water one last time. Instead France, white with panic from a failed campaign, shot what he thought was Russia lurking in the water and left his Polish legion behind for good.

**Author's Note:**

> \- After the Partitions of Poland, Catherine the Great said about partitioning Poland, "I have recovered what was torn away." Even Austria claimed the partitioned pieces were Regions claimed by Hungarian dynastic claims. This was an easy way to legitimize what was an otherwise highly contentious move. EXCEPT, the Poles really only found one sympathetic country... guess who
> 
> \- After the partitions, Polish soldiers in exile formed the [Polish Legions](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polish_Legions_in_Italy) under the command of [Jan Dąbrowski](Jan%20Henryk%20D%C4%85browski) (the dude mentioned in Poland's [national anthem](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mazurek_D%C4%85browskiego)). Through the Legions, the Poles assisted heavily in Napoleon's Italian campaign.
> 
> \- [The Siege at Mantua](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Mantua_\(1799\)) was an early victory for Napoleon's forces that a Hungarian general eventually won back. As part of the surrender, France turned over 'deserters' to the Austrian army when they left the garrison- those deserters being nearly 2000 Polish troops! Most of the Poles left behind were forcibly conscripted into the Austrian army- though not before being beaten with rods wtf austria?!
> 
> \- A secret clause in the [Treaty of Amiens](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Treaty_of_Amiens) (and agreement that made France and UK friends for like, 5 minutes) required France to disband the Polish Legions. Napoleon sent tons of Polish soldiers to Haiti to handle [a slave rebellion](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haitian_Revolution). When Haiti won their independence, most of the legionnaires had died either from the fighting or Yellow Fever, bringing the number of Polish troops from 5200 to a few hundred.
> 
> \- It's difficult to determine how many Lithuanians fought under France because Napoleon's forces would routinely classify as part of the Polish Legion, rather than their own ethnic group fjhdkf ah racism
> 
> \- Poland's fall into the river is a reference to [Prince Józef Antoni Poniatowski](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B3zef_Antoni_Poniatowski), who was a nephew to the last king of Poland's and a Marshal of France during the Duchy of Warsaw. While the Polish Legion was retreating at the Battle of Leipzig, the French accidentally blew up the bridge over the Elbe and trapped him. He drowned after being shot by French friendly fire I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP okay maybe history took liberties, but its a great story.
> 
> \- IM NOT SURE IF YOU GUYS NOTICED, but this fic is essentially "Poland helps France, gets shafted about a dozen times and loses to the partitions again. WELL at least we know France will never betray them agai- WAIT. WWII's PHONEY WAR! Damnit, AGAIN FRANCE?!" 
> 
> \- uh obvious this one is long and lousy and likely is rife with historical inaccuracies, so please feel free to correct me!!!!!


End file.
